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Thistle Breakewe

A lost member of a group of nomadic sheep herders.

0 · 231 views · located in The Infinite Void

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by tachyglossus

Description

The first impression one would get of this woman is how small she is. This isn't to say she is petite, for she has a stocky build and toned muscles. Now could one call her a midget or a dwarf, as she more or less is proportionate for a humanoid. The only thing that really sets her apart from being human is her smallness and slightly pointed ears. Otherwise this swarthy individual looks fairly plain, with a curly mop of unkempt brown hair and equally unmanaged thick eyebrows. Her round brown eyes are in the early stages of forming crows feet at the edges from the amount of squinting and grinning the woman does. Her face is broad and expressive, with a nubby nose that lacks any definition on the bridge. Her lips are without much shape and are stretched wide, perhaps too wide, across her face.

Thistle usually is seen wearing sheepskin jerkins, jackets, or vests, and little else but something to cover her loins. She sometimes has leather vambraces or shin guards, but strangely often walks around bare foot. Her feet are large and calloused, capable of going over most terrains without much discomfort to Thistle. She is seldom seen without one or more pouches strapped to her by a network of belts or chords, and part of her unruly hair is usually pulled back while the rest hangs down her back.

Lastly, her smell often suggests she bathes maybe once or twice a week. She also has that pungent odour of one who works closely with livestock, namely, sheep.

Image

Personality

Thistle, to most, seems fairly jolly and simple, with a gung-ho attitude towards challenges. She often doesn't think things through before she takes action, landing her in predicaments. However, as much as she seems to have a good temper, she doesn't. When she gets angry she often goes all out, slinging out insults, or incomprehensible noise because she's too angry to think of words. Then comes the throwing of things. She loves throwing things. Even in good moods, she loves throwing things. After all, it's what she's good at. She is not good at, however, showing tact. She all in all is lacking in people skills and tends to be socially awkward, but it doesn't stop her from trying.

Equipment

Thistle often carries a hunting knife and throwing hammers as weapons.
Otherwise, she keeps on her person gear for travel and camping, as well as sheep tending.
Thistle does not often use a shepherd's crook.

History

Thistle was born among a clan of sheep herding nomads. Rather than pen their flocks up, they often roamed with the animals. However, their grazing grounds began getting smaller and smaller as land was being claimed by more stationary nations. Whilst some did not mind the seasonal passage of Thistle's people, there were those who were openly hostile and did not like them within their borders. As Thistle grew up, it seemed every few years they had to travel further and further, only to find themselves pinned against yet more hostile borders.

Thistle had an outrageous temper as a child, and it took a lot of discipline, patience, and guidance for her parents, and other clan members, to get keep Thistle's temper in check. As she reached adulthood, it did mellow down. However, she maintained a good arm for throwing things. Heavy things. This was beneficial for scaring off predators. With the constant conflict with hostile civilizations as well as defending the flock from predators, it was not uncommon for people to start learning to fight and hunt at a young age. Thusly, Thistle was at home in a fight.

After losing much of their range, her clan decided to take a journey across treacherous mountains to a valley that was rumoured to be within. Although they often made use of mountain passes, the re was a part of the range which did not have many resources, and the inclines were much more steep and unforgiving to those who aren't sure of foot. During this exodus Thistle and her ewe, Bellwee, had gotten separated from the rest due to an avalanche. It was up to Thistle to try and find another way. Her path led her to a cave. Although Bellwee was unsettled by the cave, Thistle urged her on, being too insensitive to spiritual and magical forces to sense the power within. Thistle was never heard from again.

So begins...

Thistle Breakewe's Story

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"No no no no Bellwee, yeh canna come in!"

At the entrance to the bar, there is a rather short woman in a sheepskin jerkin and little else chastising a sheep, whose head is poked through the doorway. The swarthy and stout female pushes the sheep's head away, and then points outward. "I dun t'ink dis is der sorter place fer ye. C'mon Bellwee be a good girlie!" Finally the Sheep seems to get the message, and after an indignant bleat, it turns and heads back out from whence both shortling and ewe came.

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With the issue of the sheep being taken care of, Thistle turns and strides straight for the bar counter. Once there she clambers onto a stool and slams her fists on the counter. "FOOD!" she haulers, just expecting someone to serve her... apparently. She did not even look to see if anyone was on duty, or if said on duty person were busy. It seemed irrelevant to the hungry, burly little female.

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The ever eager looking shortie was beginning to lean forward and look around curiously as to why she wasn't being served, when suddenly she was face to face with Nobody. Hre face did little to suppress her shock, followed by a look of disgust, and then alarm. "DJYAH! MONSTER! KILL IT!" she exclaims excitedly, nearly falling backwards off of her barstool. Obviously... this one is new to the area.

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Once re-establishing her sense of balance, Thistle's gnarly hand disappears quickly into a pouch, rustling around while she stared at Nobody as he loomed over her. The criticism from 7 and the indignant objections from Dead Hand go unnoticed, or unheeded. Thistle's other hand, the moment the undead creature got even closer, a strong arm striking upwards towards Nobody's face, intending to slam her palm into his chin. "NO EAT ME!"

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Feeling her hand not connect with anything, she nearly veers off balance yet again. However she catches herself and scuttles off of the stool, hopping a few paces away from Nobody. She assumes a battle ready stance, her other hand slipping out of the pouch, holding a rock the size of her hand. She looks as though she is ready to hurl it at Nobody, when she seems to become aware of her surroundings. "Wha...?" She looks at each patron with a look of bafflement, and then back at Nobody. "Wai... wha? Why 'in nunner yeh 'tackin' ther zombie thinger?" This seems very strange that no one else was alarmed, and further more, it seemed like she was being viewed as the aggressor and not someone fighting for their life.

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Thistle stared at Nobody. She stared long and hard. Her thick eyebrows were knitted together with a look of perplexity. This notion seemed foreign and incomprehensible to her. She stuck out her chi, causing her lower lip to curl out somewhat as she went from confused to looking peevish as her cheeks reddened. "I dun..." and then it is almost as if a light went on somewhere in the thick-skulled woman's mind. "Oh, ah, ther mus' be sum kinner priest er summin keepin' ya." This explanation seemed much more acceptable to her than being somewhere that let just anyone or anything work there.

Thistle's hand was still holding the rock, as she felt very irate from the embarrassment she was just dealt. However, when she heard another voice, at least, one that was sticking up for her, she looked over to Albertine. Obediently, she put her rock away, back into her pouch, staring at Albertine for a moment or two. She then whips her head away, staring with a brooding brow at nothing in particular. She reaches up to scratch her head, only to jerk her hand away and examine it, as globs of drool drip in frail threads from one finger to the next. She frowns and shakes her hand, possibly getting some sprayed onto Albertine int he process. What is left she wipes off on her sheepskin jerkin. "Wellum... wanner really 'spectin' this sorter..." she trails off into incomprehensible mumbling.

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"Mmmf. Sorry," the little woman mumbled to Albertine, not making eye contact. She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, and then sends a petulant glare over to Nobody. She then points a finger over accusingly at him. "Yeh said yeh's gonner eat meh!" Thistle exclaimed in a loud, bellowing voice. "I come 'ere cos I asked ther closest place ter get meh belly filled. An suddenly, in meh face, MONSTER! An then yehs drool on meh and say yer gonner eat meh!" It would seem allt he work to calm down was coming undone, as Thistle's face became a maze of lines etched into her face by anger.

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"Bah!" Thistle scoffed as she threw her arms up into the air with clear exasperation. She turned away from everyone and took some thumping, storming steps towards the exit, but then stopped short. She paused a moment and then turned around, walking back to the bar. "Yeh dun eat meh, I wun fight yeh. Rest kin be water unner ther bridge. Just gimme some food."

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"I'ma Breakewe!" Thistle proudly proclaims whist thrusting her thumb to her chest. "Thistle Breakewe." ((Go on, say her name out loud)). "Wellum, I kinnae say no ter yer kindness. Er... I guess I'll be needin' yer name 'swell."

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"I walked," Thistle responds simply. She glances over at Bonody, still seeming a little bit wary of the undead, but then finally clears her throat and speaks up. "Gimme whatever meat stew yeh gots. Not picky. Just s'long ther's meat." She then looks back over to Albertine.

"Fox yeh say? Nice ter meecha." She glances around, and then it seems as a thought dawns on her and she looks suddenly apprehensive. "Er, gunner be back inner whipflick!" She says as she turns and darts for the exit, almost bowling into Phoenix on his way in.

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Moments later, the doors came open again, with Thistle holding it open as if for someone. She is making a clicking sound with her tongue, and eventually a sheep pokes its head in, bleating. However, it stops short and will not enter. "C'mon Bellwee, I kinna leave ya 'lone inner this sorter place! Wot? Cold feet? Took me lots ter getcha ter not come in, now ya dun wanner..." she pauses as Bellwee nervously takes a step back, bleating pitifully. Thistle looks in seeing a cube devouring tables and patrons. "EEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH KILL IT!" Without hesitation this time, the simple-minded half-pint whips out her rock and throws it at the cube. Yes. Like THAT will be effective.

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That was it. There was too much commotion and danger. Bellwee, Thistle's ewe, turned and bounded off as fast as her four legs could take her. At the same time, Thistle finds herself tucked up under Albertine's arm like a child. Due to her muscle, she is heavier than someone of her height should be, and is not quite so easy to tote around as a child would be.

"Bu-yarg!"

Thistle hadn't the time to really think and then form words as she is taken by surprise. "But it..." Thistle protested weakly. Then she saw her sheep had scampered off, and she began fighting against Albertine's grip. "BELLWEE! NO! COME BACK YEH FLEECIN' DUMB-EWE!" She then turns her face angrily over to the wizard with the large hat that was yelling at her, and forms a gesture which probably means something obscene among her her people.

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The burly halfling, after a moment of more incoherence of being rattled about, finally curls in her lips and sticks her chin out, looking determined and angry. She was digging around for something to throw when she realized the wizard was letting them off. She still had a look of childish petulance on her face as she squirmed out of Albertine's grasp and ran for the door, thinking only of her beloved sheep!

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to Main Street (Continued)

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Although strange sights are the norm of Wing City, perhaps one isn't accustomed to something as normal as an ordinary sheep, yet so out of place as an ordinary sheep in a city street. Thusly, to see a sheep running away from the bar entrance in a panic might at least make it to one's top twenty list of insignificant yet strange events, should one bother to list such a thing.

Sometime after the fgithened sheep had bounded down the sidewalk, a short burly woman also broke free from the chaotic Bar, yelling and calling out "BELLWEE! BELLWEE! COME BACK! WHERE'RE YEH!? BELLWEE!" in such a frantic tone as to sound like a parent calling for a lost child.

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Although slowing her pace somewhat, Thistle does not necessarily wait. She calls back "If it's denj'rus 'en I really need ter fin meh Bellwee! S'all I 'ave left, she is!" She then catches a sight of the sheep down the street and picks up her pace, eyeing the alleyways as she passes by.

Suddenly, Thistle comes to an abrupt stop.

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"Weller..." she turns around. "Chasin 'hind sheep ain' always ther best way... d'ya know ther lay o' ther land? Any o' dem narrow-ways lead further up ther road?" Thistles asks, pointing up the street which her sheep is still darting northwards along.

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As soon as Albertine was finished saying 'one or two' Thistle was off again, the rest of Albertine's words being lost in the wind as far as Thistle was concerned. She dashed into an alleyway. Apparently, this woman was not used to cities at all, for heading down an alleyway at night was not necessarily a very savvy move to make.

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It was plain as day that wisdom was not the strong suit of this runt. Thistle runs through a network of alleyways, having made a lucky guess and coming out clean onto the street. However, she was not yet ahead of her ewe. But something caught her eye up ahead and Thistle slowed herself to a jog, her own lungs beginning to protest from all of the running around and excitement of the day. Thistle had not really noticed what filth and unthinkable substances her bare feet had trudged over while in the alleyways, and even now, despite her feet feeling grimy, she doesn't seem to notice or care.

Up ahead, towards the garden, Bellwee was also slowing down.

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It was, beyond a doubt, that wisdom was not necessarily the strong suit of this wild runt. Thistle ran through the narrow alleyway, her eyes alert, and her bare feet deftly hopping over and dodging around obstacles and puddles. A stray cat dashes out of an old cardboard box with an indignant yowl as Thistle hops over it. The cat hisses and spits as its territory is defiled, standing square in Albertine's way. But, being an ordinary cat, it's hardly a threat or even an inconvenience. The sound of Thistle's feet pitter-pattering can be heard distinctly even after she turns a sharp corner, vanishing behind a building.

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As luck would have it, Thistle did not choose correctly, and when Albertine turns the corner, she sees Thistle standing at a dead end. However, the way she is looking up at a fire escape could only suggest further madness.